


Sweet Dreams (are made of this)

by Valorem



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Feeding, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Break Up, mentions of Wu Xuanyi/Meng Meiqi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27973447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valorem/pseuds/Valorem
Summary: Yibo is in a burnout. He and Xiao Zhan have broken up, and then they haven't; Xiao Zhan said he wouldn't stay and doesn't, Wenhan has only been in one relationship his whole life, and Xuanyi is really really gay.OrYibo is tired, everyone is worried (mostly Xiao Zhan), he doesn't need anyone, (especially Xiao Zhan) he wishes everyone would leave him alone (except Xiao Zhan)
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean
Comments: 34
Kudos: 162





	Sweet Dreams (are made of this)

**Author's Note:**

> Full Disclosure: I don't really know much about Xuanyi or Meiqi apart from PD101 and the time they showed up in DDU, so I apologize for any mistakes. Please forgive me.
> 
> Thanks to the gorgeous [ Dormantchrysalis ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormantchrysalis/pseuds/dormantchrysalis)for the beta, she's phenomenal and made my punctuation readable.

It's not that it comes suddenly, in all honesty, his slow slide toward absolute exhaustion is disarmingly gradual - a culmination of way too much of _everything_ building up and building up like volcanic pressure under rock. It _rips_ under his skin, golden light leaking through as Yibo hurriedly tries to patch himself back together before anyone notices.

He’s rushing everywhere, _every single day_ forty-eight hours long, as he tears off entire hunks more than he can chew, teeth hurting, jaw hurting, throat hurting... _everything_ hurting until blinking is a nuisance he isn't up to doing anymore and even breathing becomes a chore. 

Yibo gets like this sometimes, this rush of self-flagellation- or whatever it is that he feels that gives him this- this appalling, _gripping_ sadness that rises up from somewhere beneath his feet, roots twisting up through his ankles like some kind of Tolkien tree cutting through his heels and stranding him on the ground. 

He _has_ to keep himself together, that was the most important thing - it's what he's been instructed and _trained_ to do - what Hangeng had told him years ago - told him to keep his chin high and not let anything or anyone touch him, but he _had_ \- he’d let a lot of things touch him since then; and now all he has left of Hangeng’s marks of protection are those that are still running around with him everywhere, fretting like the parents he never really spent too much time with.

Du Hua pushes a sheaf of papers under his nose, breaking Yibo's internal scrutiny with customary brusqueness - “Your fans are demanding that you get better security,“ he vaguely hears her murmur as she curls his fingers around a pen so he can sign his name how-many-ever times for the billionth endorsement deal he doesn't need, “and some of your haters... they’re making noise about why you need whatever you already have in the first place.” She says it like she agrees with them. 

_Charming woman._

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” Yibo asks her glumly, forcing his fingers into a signature as she rifts through sheets of scattered paperwork on her desk. 

She looks up at him and raises an unimpressed eyebrow, “Others need it more than you right now-” she settles loftily, turning back to her papers and burying her face in it. It's an adequate enough dismissal of Yibo’s question - he can take a hint.

See. Yibo appreciates the honesty. If his boss had offered him any actual constructive assistance, Yibo would most likely have ended up in an early grave owing to the pure shock factor alone.

Yibo wonders if the security is for the SIMs. 

He sighs like he’s ninety and not twenty-three and awkwardly climbs to his feet, trying to ignore the wailing in his lower back. He never really got to rest after Being a Hero’s gruelling shoot, or SDC for that matter - or his race. 

Yibo digs a fist into his shoulder. He can’t remember the last time he got uninterrupted sleep for more than four hours. 

“I’ll message your schedule to you,” Du Hua says breaking through Yibo’s drifting melancholy. _Again_.

Not that it's anything new - he's been tuning out a lot lately. Yibo blames the insomnia. 

She doesn’t bother to look up at him, her considerable energies focused entirely on a Singaporean brochure with what looked like a lot of water parks in them. 

Yibo nods glumly, shouldering the door open and hiking his bag higher on his shoulder. 

Outside, the lobby lights are dim, everyone moving slowly as befitting for a 1 AM call on a Sunday night, looking about as happy as Yibo to be there. 

_Go fucking figure._

Xuanyi waits for him by the lift. 

Yibo blinks and then slouches over to her obligingly. Xuanyi taps her heels on the ground, her long hair is braided down to her stomach, unlike the rest of them petty humans, the late hour doesn’t seem to make her any less _stunning_. 

When he finally makes it to her side, she looks at him with something suspiciously like pity in her eyes, and Yibo can’t help but wonder for the hundredth time why he couldn't have just been capable of falling for the obviously superior species.

“You looked better two years ago when you were bankrupt,” she says frankly as he joins her inside, distractedly tugging at the straps of her sling bag and turning away from him. 

Yibo snorts in response, pressing on the key for the basement and leaning back into the corner of the lift, “Sugar coat it why don’t you,” he responds drily. 

Xuanyi winces, straightening back up and shifting awkwardly in his periphery, embarrassed at being so unusually awkward. “I’m tired enough of being polite in the media all the time. Besides,” she settles instead, forcing a smile on her face. “You’re a trend-setter Wang _laoshi_ ." She says _laoshi_ like she's teasing him fondly for a joke he no longer wants to get. "We’re just trying to follow in your ‘no nonsense’ footsteps.”

“Whyever would anyone want to follow in _my_ footsteps of all things?” his mouth spills out before his brain can catch up; awkward, _bitter_ , and way too honest. He jams his lips shut and scrunches his eyes. 

When he finally manages to open them, Xuanyi’s eyes have faded from alarm to deep concern. Face soft and a little too knowing for his tastes. Yibo hopes to heaven that the elevator sped the fuck up and spared him an overly-concerned lecture from one of his childhood friends. But he _is_ in the Yuehua office - one could never tell what would break first.

“I’m worried about you,“ Xuanyi begins quietly _and_ _the best thing about her,_ Yibo thinks distantly, tuning out a little _\- is that Xuanyi sounded like music even while just talking._

 _It’s almost difficult to ignore her. Almost_. 

He shakes his head, focuses back on what she is saying with truly stupendous effort. “We all are,“ she continues, “and you refuse to talk to anyone about it, Wenhan told Meiqi the other day that you blew him off for drinks and -”

“You’re all talking about me now?” Yibo asks, not even trying to keep the irritation out of his tone. 

Xuanyi’s eyes finally sharpen. _Turns out there was a limit to even her patience after all._

“Don’t be an ass” she snaps. “I know you’re exhausted and all but the rest of us aren’t exactly skipping around either, we don’t have to put up with your shit.”

Yibo winces, ashamed. In all fairness, he’d had _that_ one coming for months _._ He thumps his head back on the elevator wall. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “you didn’t - you didn’t deserve that. And the other day - the other day I had a shoot, for Eleme.” 

Xuanyi purses her lips, her eyes flit about awkwardly before she walks forward and hovers a tentative arm over his shoulder, before dropping it and just choosing to stand beside him, body warm and radiating heat and comfort. 

It’s easier than anything to turn around and give her a tired, slightly overwhelmed smile. 

He’s actually grateful. As idol life goes, Yibo has practically hit the jackpot, he’s booked for the near future, his market value is over the roof, he makes a load of money and has enough legos at home to tide him through the next couple of years. 

He should be _happy_ , things could be way worse.

Yibo gives her fingers a grateful squeeze before dropping them and turning away again. “How is everyone?” he asks instead, looking up into the overhead lamps. 

“Good. I think.”

Yibo snorts, “I should speak to Yamy properly sometime, I haven’t really had the time yet.”

Xuanyi nods. “You should.” she agrees. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

They devolve back into silence, Xuanyi obviously trying to find some thread to link to his health so she could yell at him again. Yibo flounders too. He feels years at DDU should have given him slightly better social skills at this point.

Just a little. 

Thankfully, the elevator grinds to a loud halt and Xuanyi gives him a loaded look before exiting. “Talk to _someone,_ “ she says like she actually _expects_ him to and turns away, striding off toward her car where her girlfriend was probably waiting for her. Because some people could do that freely. Relatively atleast. He’s as jealous as he’s happy for them. 

He turns away from Meiqi’s Audi, and waddles over to his own van slowly. Lele comes forward, hand gentle as he curves it down over Yibo’s elbow, taking his bag off his shoulder. “You can sleep a bit in the car, eh Laoban?” he murmurs, voice low and reassuring as he leads Yibo into the van. Yibo clambers inside, limbs protesting even at the small movement, and finally relaxes back into the seat, the backrest bracing him and cradling his aching neck.

Lele helpfully wraps an eye mask around Yibo’s head, tucking the escaping strands of hair back into the strap. “Get some rest, his gentle bodyguard murmurs. “We’ll wake you up once we reach home.”

Yibo nods, the mask feeling cool and pleasant over his skin, it had been a gift - from… Elvis(?) when Yibo had whined one-time-too-many about sleepless nights in their group chat. It is pale blue, blurred shafts of pleasant light making their way through the mask, but still blocking out the glare for the most part. It's by far the most thoughtful gift he’s ever received, Xiao Zhan’s whole being excluded. 

He sinks back into the cushions and tries to force his brain into that mute quietness he gets before falling asleep, exhaustion finally tiring even _his_ overactive brain out - but tonight, he feels weirdly jittery, on edge; like he needs to be looking over his shoulder. 

Yibo shakes his head and tries to force his head empty again - but he... his brain refuses to stop buzzing, still noisy and cluttered and too- _all over the place_ , too _everything_ to relax peacefully. 

Yibo groans. So it was gonna be _that_ kind of night. He deserves it really, for showing his body no respect whatsoever. 

He pulls the mask off, letting it hang loosely on his neck. Yan Yan turns back from where he’s belted up in the front seat. “Can’t sleep?” he asks sympathetically. Yibo nods, feeling like a grumpy cat abandoned in the rain.

Then he winces - _that had maybe been a little too soon._

He sighs pathetically, stretching his legs under the seating, “I’ll go home and play legos,“ he promises Yan Yan, mostly so they didn’t all talk about how much he sucked at self-care without _him_ behind his back. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll fall asleep in some time.”

Yan Yan looks doubtful but lets it lie. Yibo is grateful, he can’t stand _two_ consecutive serious conversations about his failing health in one night. 

Lele turns into the driveway, going through security and down to the basement. Yibo watches the disappearing great outside a little wistfully, half wishing he could go out for a round of skateboarding and knowing his body is too exhausted to manage it. 

Not that he could even if his body _was_ up to it, but that's not something he particularly wants to think of. 

He yawns when Lele parks the car, tucking it in between two others, keeps his body limp and noodle when he comes around the back to open the door and untucks Yibo from his seat. Lele hangs Yibo’s Nike bag over his shoulder, and then stands back to look at him assessingly. When Yibo beseeches at him with his eyes, Lele sighs, obviously deciding to let it go for the time being, a soft smile lighting up the edges of his mouth. “I don’t need to worry about you tonight,” he teases, looking like he had a secret he wasn’t going to share with the class. He ruffles Yibo’s hair like he’s a child again and Yibo grins in relief, just grateful for being spared the lecture and dodges halfheartedly, bouncing out from under their grasping arms and dancing over to the lift. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, ge,“ he smiles, playing with the strap of his bag.

His bodyguards smile at him reassuringly, waving. “Bye-bye,“ Yibo says, managing to dredge up a small smile for them, and clambering into the lift. They look after him until the doors slide shut and once he’s no longer being supervised, Yibo sags into the walls of the elevator, weirdly feeling like he’s going to get another round of lectures from Xuanyi again. 

He sighs when the lift comes to a stop, hiking his back up his shoulder and walking out, clumsily sifting through his keys before shoving one through the door. 

He has leftover noodles from yesterday, and a new website he’d found that provided great blue noise. Maybe for a change, Yibo would actually get some sleep tonight.

He’s just about to nudge the door open, already postponing the whole ‘dinner eating’ agenda, when it slides open on its own. Before Yibo can scream or even throw his bag on the unwanted intruder’s face- framed in Yibo’s doorway, Xiao Zhan is more beautiful than all the suns in the sky.

—-

Yibo blinks at his ex slowly, more than half-certain that he was having an insomnia induced hallucination, all the while Xiao Zhan smiles at Yibo pleasantly, leading him into the hotel room like nothing about this was weird, like he and Xiao Zhan haven’t been on a ‘let’s not talk anymore’ terms for _five months,_ around the time when Xiao Zhan had realised that their fans and antis would never miss the opportunity to blame the other one. 

“We need some distance,'' he'd said, dry-eyed and calm as summer breeze, shoulders held back and firm in his stance. He’d not quailed under Yibo’s screaming, had maybe blinked a couple of times when Yibo had started crying, before drifting the tip of his pretty, pretty fingers over the top of Yibo’s head. 

“It's not you, it's me,” he added like he actually couldn’t _not_ make things worse; and that was that, really. 

Xiao Zhan was a lot of things, weak to Yibo wailing for attention was not one of them. 

So. 

Yibo had taken off the precious necklace Xiao Zhan had gifted him in a fit of rage, twigs caught up in his hair and bruises on his fingertips from where he’d been crouched on the ground when Xiao Zhan had left him; he’d taken it off... and thrown it against a wall, refused to even _think_ about anything and had just worked and worked and _worked_ until he’d been sobbing into Jackson Wang’s arms backstage. Jackson is a new friend, a lovely, amiable, hilarious friend, that reminds him a little of Wenhan, a little of Seungyoun. 

He misses home every day. 

He’d gone back to their flat later and guiltily wrapped the broken necklace around his wrist. _It’s not weakness_ , he’d promised himself. _The necklace is a good luck charm, there is no need to complicate it more than that._

Turns out, there was a definite need to complicate it more than that - with the BJYX fans taking his little necklace wrapped around the wrist as even more proof that he was hopelessly struck in love and couldn’t get over a man, the love of his life, who hadn't even cried during their break up. 

Not that Yibo cared, but some affirmation of mutuality would have been nice - for science and self respect and all that. 

He’d been okay though - if you called falling sick twice a week okay. He had new friends, friends who danced like him, he had other friends, accumulated like a patchwork story of his life spanning over years, friends who’d fight battles and wars for him, so… he’s _fine_. He doesn’t need a boyfriend, Yibo has survived on his own for a whole nineteen years before Xiao Zhan had stumbled his gorgeous ass face front on Yibo’s own porch - pink shirt and pinker smiles in a programme that mattered the world to Yibo, but most times Xiao Zhan didn’t even remember. 

He feels like he’s keeping a tally of things - the million things Xiao Zhan did that showed his love, and the one thing, some stupid thing - it was all Yibo could remember. 

“Breakups are like that” - Wenhan had told him in an all-knowing voice despite being in only one relationship his whole life, one that was going fabulously well in spite of Du Hua’s best efforts to correct it. But Wenhan had his own problems to deal with - and Yibo had felt too compassionate to rib him about it then. He’d fed Wenhan more of the chips he endorsed when the man looked like he was about to start crying. 

Anyway. 

So, Yibo is okay. He’s A) on the path of recovery, and B) does not need Xiao Zhan helpfully flitting about in his kitchen out of pity. 

He does follow his ex inside the house though, part out of habit and part out of exhaustion, but mostly it’s _that_ part of himself that he doesn’t want to acknowledge- one that is desperate for Xiao Zhan to stay. 

Xiao Zhan uncurls the scarf from around Yibo’s throat, pulls off his cap to ruffle his hair out, and he surveys Yibo critically. 

“I’ve pulled up a bath for you,“ he says finally, stepping back and away from Yibo. 

_No wait don’t go_! Yibo uncurls his fingers with difficulty. _Clingy hoe,_ he chastises himself. 

“You should go take a bath and then come back,” Xiao Zhan is still saying. 

Yibo follows his instructions in a semi-coherent daze, toeing his shoes and socks off, his jacket gets thrown... over some couch or chair. 

Inside the bathroom, Xiao Zhan has lowered the lights until they’re not bare or bright but a soft welcoming gold, his bathtub brimming with slightly steaming water. 

Yibo dips his toes in to check - and the temperature is, of course, perfect. Yibo isn’t surprised at all - he and Xiao Zhan had shared a shower or five, back in the day. 

He carefully lowers himself into the tub, arms on either side of the rims, thighs protesting even the most minute exertion. He sags into the water with relief, it sloshes somewhere about his chest, warm and snooze-worthy - it smells like Yibo’s perfume - maybe Xiao Zhan had dumped some bath salts into it for him. 

He’s so tired that even the most bare minimum compassion makes him want to _wail_.

Yibo pulls his legs to his chest instead, curling his hands around his knees and resting his head on them. His eyes burn, but Yibo refuses to cry around Xiao Zhan for the same fucking reason if he can manage it. 

He lathers himself up slowly, a petty part of him glad for making Xiao Zhan wait, a more honest part of him acknowledging that he’s just physically incapable of going any faster. 

Eventually, the water begins cooling down and Yibo knows he can’t drag this along any longer. He makes it out of the tub murkily, stumbling like a sailor just finding his sea legs - wraps a towel around his wet hair. 

He grabs his moisturisers and serums from his cabinet, quickly slaps them on his skin before putting his clothes on - if Yibo had been alone, he’d have gone for a large shirt and shorts, but with Xiao Zhan in the house - even a sliver of skin feels a gesture too bold, and he puts on a pair of winter leggings instead, track pants over, and a sweater that covered his hands all the way down to his tips. 

In the mirror, Yibo looks defensive even to himself, but it's all the shield he can spare for now really, it’ll have to do. 

He wonders why he isn’t more nervous about talking to his ex, still very much the love of his life, who’d crudely dumped him during a romantic walk a little way off the city, he wonders why he really can’t bring himself to care if Xiao Zhan is just here to reaffirm that it _really was not_ Yibo’s fault, and he was here to _help_ because he was a spectacular soul like that. 

He just wants to sleep, and his capacity to deal with Xiao Zhan’s well-meaning bullshit is in the negatives. But he slouches after him anyway, pulling the sweater sleeves further down so he can tuck his fingers inside them, towel gathering water at his nape. 

Xiao Zhan proceeds to gallantly pull a chair back for him and Yibo is about to sit on it when Xiao Zhan smoothly slides in between and seats _his_ pretty ass on it instead. 

Yibo gapes at him silently. Is he really that petty?

He wants to punch Xiao Zhan in his stupid noble face, he wants to hold his hand, he wants to ask why, he really... he really wants to cry. 

Yibo sniffs, rubbing his nose, intending to brush past Xiao Zhan to the other side of the table when the man gently folds his hand around Yibo’s. 

When Yibo turns around, he’s meeting Yibo’s gaze bravely, unbowed, “You can sit on my lap,” he says firmly, voice brooking no argument. Yibo would have screeched at the audacity if Xiao Zhan hadn’t nervously swallowed right after, eyes sliding off of Yibo’s own, darting toward the food and the single plate he’d set on the table, like he was _terrified_ of Yibo refusing. 

Yibo heart hurts. This feels like shooting for Ah-Ling all over again. He’s so very exhausted by Xiao Zhan’s mixed signals. He feels like he’s a part of an overly dramatic romcom and is always several steps behind everyone else in the cast. If they ever wrote a story about their lives, Yibo has no doubt that he’d be the dumb comic relief character. 

He tries to shrug his lover ex-lover’s arm off of him, when Xiao Zhan squeezes his wrist, more pleading. “I want to feed you-“ Xiao Zhan says, his voice is hoarse like he’s not had much sleep either, and his eyes are large and unfairly beautiful on his face. Even now, he rips Yibo’s defense mechanisms apart like they never existed, Xiao Zhan seems to have an unfair talent for it. Yibo feels way too raw for someone who’d not even done much. 

Yibo’s had rougher days than this recently, days where Yibo debated his career, his life, his choices, his _character_ , days where he felt adrift at sea - the tenterhooks of the love of friends and family holding him in some kind of precipice where all his choices for certain would doom him - he couldn’t be an actor, a dancer, a racer - where would he go?

He can’t even imagine how it must have been for Xiao Zhan, he’s not particularly even inclined to. His brain is exhausted as it is, and crude as it was - space helped, clearly more for Xiao Zhan than for him, as his ~~lover~~ ex looks better than he had in those last few awful weeks culminating in Xiao Zhan breaking up with him in the middle of nowhere with not so much as a ‘how do you do’.

He could say something kinder, make the scene not anymore difficult than it already was, but reducing awkwardness is not exactly Yibo’s field of expertise. He pulls his arm away and rubs his wrist like it’s been burnt. “That’s very presumptuous of you,“ he says with all the scorn he can muster up, rubbing his wrist even more firmly for want of anything else to do with his hands. 

Xiao Zhan’s eyes slide to them. “Did I hurt you?” he asks tiredly. 

_In more ways than one._

It’s probably the kind of thing to say that would ruin their fledgling rekindling relationship forever, but Yibo is tired and angry and sad. And Xiao Zhan is still here, with his warm food and sweet eyes and kind heart and Yibo wants him _gone_ , so he can curl up and cry himself to sleep. 

“I’m used to it,“ he says cruelly, trying to enjoy Xiao Zhan’s resulting flinch. But it just makes him feel even more awful than he already does. 

Xiao Zhan turns away, hanging his head and curling on himself. His long body folding into itself carefully as he grafted himself around this new hurt, making himself a smaller target. 

Yibo sniffs again. How was this fair in any way? They’d done nothing wrong. They shouldn’t be here just because other people had problems with two men fucking, they shouldn’t have to watch every footstep and every glance and hyper analyse themselves so they don’t get misconstrued. _They shouldn’t have to_ ; but then again, things like that had never mattered in the real world.

He sighs.

This would definitely break him, if things turned sideways, Yibo would be _ruined_ in a way no one could _ever_ fix, but... its _Xiao Zhan_ , and maybe he'd leave once he considered his duty fulfilled, also Yibo… he owed Xiao Zhan a little - for free guilt and all that. 

He nudges his hip on the backrest of Xiao Zhan’s chair, and when he looks up at Yibo, Yibo gives him a tentative apologetic smile, carefully lowering himself down until he’s curved into Xiao Zhan’s body, ankles brushing together, cheeks close enough that if Yibo were to turn, he’d be kissing Xiao Zhan in all of his tender lovely glory. 

He’s ashamed of how badly he wants it. 

If Xiao Zhan is surprised, he’s kind enough not to show it. He curls his hand around Yibo’s waist - gentle and tender like Yibo is breakable glass and would disintegrate into dust if Xiao Zhan is even slightly harsher. Yibo’s not entirely sure he won’t.

Xiao Zhan feeds him then, soup and then rice; he’s patient, like he has all the time in the world, he scoops it up from down Yibo’s chin when the gravy slides off, pushes it back into Yibo’s mouth - all careful and non-judgemental. 

If Yibo could, he’d have said something shameful or inappropriate about kinks - but Xiao Zhan isn’t hard... Yibo isn’t either. 

Xiao Zhan steals a couple of bites when Yibo is busy chewing and when Yibo tries to insist on him eating more (and Woah! Isn’t that a throwback) Xiao Zhan demurs and insists that he’s already eaten. 

Whatever. 

When they’re done, Xiao Zhan scoops up the dishes and takes them to the sink. Yibo gets to sit on the chair like a lazy bum, sated and mouth full, warm after a bath and being well-fed - he feels.... good, strangely, like he’s not dancing on a live wire, living everyday like he was celebrating his last. 

The rattle of the dishes in the sink, Xiao Zhan’s soap-studded fingers, the reassuring thrum of another human in friendly proximity- lulls him into enough semi-coherent security to feel drowsy. 

He wonders why he still trusts Xiao Zhan so implicitly; there is love, obviously, but... Yibo still feels safe with him, a naive childish kind of belief that as long as he has Zhan-ge nothing bad would happen. It’s stupid as behaviour goes, but Yibo has never been able to train certain responses out of his system. 

He feels embarrassingly sleepy.

When Xiao Zhan’s pruned fingers wrap around his bicep and drag him to his feet, Yibo gets up easily, follows him like the puppy he’s often likened to. 

Xiao Zhan is gentle as he brushes his fingers through Yibo’s still wet hair, untangling and smoothing it out to dry it so Yibo could go to bed without having to worry about a headache.

Xiao Zhan sets Yibo on the bed before going to the bathroom to fetch the hairdryer. Yibo lists in place, half asleep, missing Xiao Zhan’s warmth already. 

When he comes back, Xiao Zhan gets to task immediately, not missing anything. He curves Yibo’s head down to get the back of his hair, tilts his head to the side to dry behind his ears. 

Even through the roar of the dryer, Yibo can still hear the _tick-tick_ of their limited clock, of Xiao Zhan, tucking him into bed and leaving, with some mediocre excuse of ‘being too busy’ or the like. 

Yibo waits for his deadline. Usually, he operates much easier under pressure- _deadlines work great for his hyperactive brain_ \- but this... this is not the same. 

Xiao Zhan sets the hairdryer aside and pushes Yibo back into the bed, tucking him into the blankets. Yibo rubs his feet together inside, feeling way too vulnerable and _cosy_ and safe. 

Xiao Zhan turns away and Yibo’s eyes, _of course,_ _have_ to have a stress response to the back of Xiao Zhan’s head by getting embarrassingly wet instantly.

 _Fuck this romance shit. Honestly_. 

He refuses to cry over Xiao Zhan _again_. 

He sniffs and blinks until he can dry his eyes, turns his head into the pillow so he doesn’t have to look at Xiao Zhan’s retreating back for the millionth time. 

He can relax now. He’d wanted privacy had he not? He hadn’t wanted Xiao Zhan with him less than thirty minutes ago. 

He hadn’t even thought about Xiao Zhan for weeks! Right?

He keeps his eyes scrunched tight when the bed dips on the other side, trying to stifle the hope surging so quick in his chest, he almost feels choked. 

_Liar Liar pants on fire._

Xiao Zhan burrows himself into the blankets, laying down on Yibo’s side. 

He’s all elbows, knees, and a surprising amount of muscle. Yibo wants to _squeeze_ them. 

When Yibo stays, clinging to the blanket on his side like a virgin maiden, Xiao Zhan sighs, loud and obnoxiously dramatic, before turning on his side and curving his body behind Yibo’s. 

He’s a long line of reassuring heat, feet tucking under Yibo’s so the tip of Yibo’s big toe presses into his ankle. 

It’s like the pinky swears they made as children, as much as an olive branch their egos could spare. 

Yibo shamefully laces their fingers together where Xiao Zhan wraps an arm around his chest. 

It’s the most grounded he’s felt in months - it’s as close to safety and sleep as he’s ever gonna get. 

“So that’s it?” Yibo murmurs. “You sneak into my place, cook for me, and then cuddle me - what if I get any ideas, hmm?” 

It’s low even as cheap blows go, but Yibo’s allowed some, after the whole general break up treatment and all.

Xiao Zhan sighs, and for once doesn’t take the bait. 

He leans forward to press his mouth to Yibo’s cheek, he kisses it once, and then twice, and then once more. 

“I missed your cheeks,” he breathes gently. 

Yibo snorts, cuddling further into Xiao Zhan’s chest. “I’m glad your reason for coming back to me was so deep and profound.”

He waits, heart in his throat, waits for Xiao Zhan to stiffen, to pull away, to correct him. 

There is a long moment as the clock in Yibo’s room seems to tick even faster. 

And then… Xiao Zhan does none of that. “Yes,” he says serenely. “Yes I am as exceptionally profound as you can stand _anyone_ to be,” and before Yibo can open his mouth in loud annoyance, Xiao Zhan noses down his neck, before pressing another kiss to Yibo’s forehead. 

His skin tingles everywhere they touch, the knot in his chest feels like it’s the most loose it has ever been. 

He tightens his grip on Xiao Zhan’s hand. He almost feels _shy_.

Xiao Zhan squeezes right back.

“Sleep sweetheart,” Xiao Zhan murmurs, voice deep and thrumming underneath Yibo’s fragile nerves. “Sleep. I'm here.”

So Yibo does.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.[ Xuanyi in DDU ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THZyeeV9eIs&list=PLYUNo8tULlnJkn6YqVcsvwpwrIwIxeN50&index=63&t=194s) \- Its also the episode where Yibo butchers a cucumber XD  
> 2\. [ Meng Meiqi in DDU ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vl5NYFnseIE&list=PLYUNo8tULlnJkn6YqVcsvwpwrIwIxeN50&index=62)\- Yamy is also in this episode, if you simp for her like I do.  
> 3\. If you haven't already - you can watch PD101 [here](https://wetv.vip/en/play/2pj0t81hoe0wk9n/x0029g8zz6k) for free with English subs.
> 
> I got nothing else XD
> 
> Come vibe with me on the bird app [@V](https://twitter.com/_Valorem_)


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